


Relativity

by red_scully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 05:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13564143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_scully/pseuds/red_scully
Summary: Jackson's DNA results are due.  Mulder is waiting for them.  In-episode short for Ghouli.





	Relativity

He was sitting on a hard plastic chair in a poorly lit hospital hallway, thinking about all the other chairs he'd sat in in all the other hospital hallways across the country over the past 25 years.

Some of them were nicer than others. Some had pot plants in the corner, or old magazines stacked on an end table, or a coffee machine dispensing muddy water. The occasional hospital even provided cushioned seats, although after a couple of hours of waiting to see if your partner was dead even those could render one's backside numb as hell.

Mulder had lost count of the number of tragedies he'd experienced in places like this. Some were his own, some were Scully's, and there had been the occasional, unexpected good outcome, but they all had one thing in common: the endless waiting.

Time seemed to slow in these infernal hallways. The terrible artificial light, reflecting off the linoleum floors, made it impossible to know whether you'd been sat there an hour or a day. Minutes stretched to breaking point, and all there was to be done was to think, and think, and wonder, and on occasion (and he would never admit this) pray to a God he didn't believe in that everything would be alright.

This was different, of course, because for once Scully was on the same side of the door as he was. She was down the hall, snoozing on a couch at the nurse's station, just out of his sight. If he craned his neck he could just see the tips of her toes, but it made his neck crack alarmingly, so he had to stop after the third time. 

Just as he was checking his watch for approximately the billionth time, the door opened and Dr Wong emerged. She had sharp features and wore her hair scraped back from her face, which emphasised the contours of her cheekbones. The bad light gave her skin a wan complexion. She blinked quickly. "Mr Mulder? Please come in."

This too was a familiar ritual, this process of going into a room with no idea what fate awaited moments later. You might be crying or laughing or filled with a sudden hot anger, there was no telling which. As he got to his feet, his stomach did a somersault. His knees creaked; this part was newer, a little offensive. He looked back down the hall, intending to fetch Scully, but from this angle he could see that she wasn't there. She must have gone to the bathroom, he thought. Should he wait for her?

Dr Wong was standing in the doorway still, raising her eyebrows. Mulder looked back again, then at the doctor, slow seconds counting out what felt like decades.

He had to know. He couldn't bear another moment of uncertainty. And it would be better for Scully to hear bad news from him than a stranger.

The room was much more brightly lit than the hall and filled with gleaming surfaces and lab equipment. The doctor picked up a folder from the counter and handed it to him. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and measured, and she got right to the point.

"The samples were a match. Ms Scully is the mother of Jackson Van de Kamp."

My son is dead, Mulder thought to himself quite calmly.

And then time completely stopped, and all he knew was the rawest pain.

\--

Wiping the vomit from his mouth with a napkin, Mulder drew a jagged breath. Dr Wong was behind him, a hand resting gently on his back. He wanted to be bothered by this intrusion but all he could do right now was breathe. In, and out, and in. He threw the paper towel into the trash can. His eyes were stinging. The lights were too bright now, the desk chair he leaned on too wobbly, and he longed for the dreariness of the hallway with its uncertainty and hard surfaces.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr Mulder. This must be a terrible shock." Doctor Wong was still talking to him in that soothing, quiet voice. Perhaps she'd seen this dozens of times, but barfing into a trash can in front of a stranger was a first for him. He straightened up slowly, feeling his treacherous old spine pop back into position as if mocking him, taunting, _you're old now, it's too late, you can't go back and fix any of it._

"Is there anyone I can call for you?"

He forced himself to meet her gaze. What do you say in this situation? Who do you call? Christ. He had to tell Scully.

Clearing his throat and shaking his head, Mulder backed out of the room, the words, "sorry for the mess" barely escaping his lips.

\--

Scully wasn't at the nurse's station, but one of the nurses had seen her heading for the morgue. He started running, and actually made it halfway through the hospital before turning on his heel and ducking into the men's room to slump against the wall, trying to catch his breath. After a few moments he regarded his reflection. In the mirror stood a Fox Mulder positively haggard with age, regret and suffering. His hair was sticking up, there was barf on his tie and his skin looked grey. God, this was no good. Scully didn't need to see this. She was already suffering so much and now he had to go and break her heart again. A wave of nausea hit and he swayed slightly on his feet, grasping the cold porcelain of the sink to keep his balance.

I can't let her see me like this.

So many painful nights had passed this way. She had cried and cried over William, blaming herself again and again until he couldn't bear it anymore, and he put on his running shoes and disappeared into the night because hell, she wouldn't let him comfort her, she wouldn't accept his words or his arms, she was withdrawing from him in every way and sinking into her own personal hell and he didn't know what else to do with his own pain. They'd screwed the whole damn thing up. They'd lost the ability to see each other, because of their child.

He thought of her face that night when she left. She said she couldn't look at him any more without seeing William in his face, and she picked up a bag, and told him she loved him, and then she got into her car and drove away. He'd lost all hope that day, but recently things had been getting better. Somehow age and distance and time had started to heal them as a pair, even if their individual scars were still smarting. She'd all but moved back in, now. He'd started to imagine they would be ok.

It wasn't fair that it had turned out like this.

Mulder was crying now. Hot tears tracked down his face. He tried not to sob but god, it just hurt like hell and he wanted his son back and fuck, this was just the worst way it could possibly have ended. Suddenly all he could think of was Jackson's bedroom, filled with space paraphernalia and a baseball bat.

He had lost his boy and it was too late. He checked his watch: it had been eleven minutes since he'd found out. He already couldn't remember what it felt like to live in a world where his son was still living. He didn't want Scully to live in this world. It would kill her.

Mulder wanted, more than ever before, to howl and howl. He wanted to put his fist through the mirror and feel something other than this. He thought of Scully, dying in a hospital bed whilst he cried into the sheets beside her in the dead of night. He thought of losing his mother. He thought of taking Scully off of life support, of waiting for that phone call from Melissa, of finding his father dead on a bathroom floor. His head pounded; he was sweating furiously.

I can't let her see me like this. I have to stay strong.

Summoning energy from God literally only knew where, Mulder drew himself upright. He washed his tie. He threw freezing cold water on his face, shivering in that cold dingy bathroom as he did so. He ran a hand through his hair but it seemed like a lost cause, so he straightened his jacket and chewed a stick of gum he found in the pocket. Five minutes passed. His heart stopped racing. Ten minutes. His eyes lost their puffiness.

Walking through the corridors, Mulder set his jaw and cleared his mind. Scully, down in the morgue, was sat on a stupid fucking plastic chair and staring at the clock. She needed him to open the door and tell her the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> The morning after this aired, I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that Mulder showed up at the morgue to tell Scully the bad news, and had been walking around thinking William was dead. I couldn't leave that thought untouched and the heart of the story more or less wrote itself.
> 
> Eternal love to Angie for beta reading far too many drafts of this as I agonised over tiny details. You are a champion <3


End file.
